


the mechanized hum of another world

by mixture



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Bank Robbery, Gen, Mindwiping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixture/pseuds/mixture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can remember the weight of the coin, the smell of his father and the touch of his mother, but yet anything between then and now doesn’t exist... But he doesn’t dwell on it for long. Once he’s recovered what he needs from the bank, he’ll be fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the mechanized hum of another world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synekdokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/gifts).



> I don't know what this is either. Quick beta by the sibs, remaining mistakes are mine. Title is from Steely Dan's _Don't Take Me Alive_.

It took years of searching through the Americas before he could find it—a terribly small bank within a village in the middle of nowhere. It was the type of place where everyone knew one another, or at least the permanent residents were friendly with each other and knew of each other’s business as if they were kin. _Which wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, in a place like this_ , he thought, but had made sure to keep his grimace about the situation to himself.

Bisecting the small village was a major state highway, which brought in a multitude of different people to the area, for which he was thankful. He knew he would stick out like a sore thumb no matter what the circumstance was, but at least there was a possibility to hide between clusters of families and couples as they utilized the surprisingly modern offerings that the area provided. He sighed at the thought, since he had gotten used to travelling with a companion who could make camouflage easier… but knew that was the path to weakness since there was nothing that could be done about his current situation.

Which was the core difficulty as to why it took years to find the proper location; metal was hard to sense as if there was a scar upon his sight. Attempting to use his powers causes _pain_ , as if someone had ground sand into his eyes— sensation familiar whenever he tries to think past his mission, his objective, the reason as to why he had searched so long for this tiny unsophisticated building. He can remember the weight of the coin, the smell of his father and the touch of his mother, but yet anything between then and now doesn’t exist.

But he doesn’t dwell on it for long. Once he’s recovered what he needs from the bank, he’ll be _fine._

 _Alles ist gut_ —

 

It isn’t that hard to scope out the bank from the buildings around it, though he prefers to sit at the diner. There’s nothing there that he’d deign to eat, which is why he sticks with purchasing food from the supermarket and taking it back to his hotel room. The waitress doesn’t bat an eye at a semi-regular who drinks coffee and reads the paper—someone easy to handle and tips well amiss the tourists and townies… but she does make sure to flirt every time he comes in.

The bank is simple, brick and mortar, and from what he has seen without walking in, the lobby is smaller than he expected. Which is interesting, from his standpoint, because he’d be surprised if the actual resident count surpassed a thousand, but that says nothing about those who live further out into the wilderness.

Or to those who store valuables in areas people can barely find let alone think to look.

Despite the fact that his metal-sense is crippled, he’s able to make a mental map of the lobby—the small two-window teller area composed mostly of wood, the handful of chairs, the desk to the other side of the lobby and the various posts for the line barriers. He’s unable to push any further than the door to the vault, and it worries him; he has nothing to go on other than a gut instinct that _this is where he should be_ , the feeling right on the edge of what he can and cannot remember.

 

The only time he goes in is when he decides to make his move. He walks in calmly, right as the bank is closing—outside of the tellers, there’s still a couple off in the corner filling out paperwork before going to be served… and it’ll have to do. He’s strong enough to shutter them inside and to disable the main security, but he has to resort to manually restraining everyone with the rope he had brought with him in his briefcase. 

He’s piled them close to one another, and speaks softly, “I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I _am_ sorry for the inconvenience.”

One of the tellers’ hair shifts color quickly in her panic—one of the mutant staff he’s observed from the diner. He can’t do anything else to assure her, any of them, because their fear is understandable.

Somehow, he’s able to push through his powers and unlock the complex vault, though he has to pull it open with his body. He steps in with his suitcase, gazing at the numerous safety deposit boxes and is frustrated that he can only feel the handles on them, and nothing past the walls of the vault itself. There are a handful of boxes that may be the right size, but his power decides then to flicker out, and he smashes the boxes one by one with the axe he has brought with him, ignoring the hostages’ cries and murmurs from the noise.

 

He finds that the helmet is in a cement block.

 

 

Erik remembers when the boy was brought in—Darwin was the only one in the department who could withstand telepathic control to properly subdue the suspect. They had settled with the injection instead of the circlet, which would normally have Erik up in arms about the treatment of mutants, but yet—

It feels as if something is now missing in his head… that wasn’t a couple of days ago.

The boy had politely refused to say anything without a lawyer present, who had in turn managed to shred any reason they had to continue to hold him at the station. Erik scowls at the entire display, frustrated and angry at how far old money status can get someone in almost every aspect of life.

_I remember you from a few months ago, drawn by your body but oh. Your power is magnificent, and I do intend to make it my own._

He was unassuming and charming to everyone, waving off the experience as a misunderstanding and knowing that the injection would wear off soon. There was something keeping him from doing anything about the fact that _it didn’t work_ , that Xavier was stronger than they had expected—

_You’re very rigid, Detective Lehnsherr, but I assure you, nothing’s going to change—I do love a challenge._

He feels the impression of hands on his shoulders, and a kiss placed to the corner of his mouth, but yet— he blinks, and he’s sure that the sensation is _real_ , unable to explain the sudden chill in the room.


End file.
